Misleading Prophecies
by Skysha-Tranqui
Summary: [ON HIATUS]A Seer's warning sparks a dangerous race against time, as Harry struggles to strike a balance between the black and white forces that dominate the wizarding world. How can opposites of the same coin live in piece? Isn't one supposed to usurp th
1. A Seer's fall, and a Seer's rise

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairing: hmm…not sure, but will be slash if anything…

Warning: Some spoilers from OoTP. (order of the phoenix - for mere mortals)

Plot:A weird thing which I just thought of this morning (I don't think I am copying anyone, so…*shrug*)

Basically, my theory on how Harry could get out of the war (kind of), and _still_ manage to save all the people whose lives 'supposedly' depend upon him. Afterall, Harry's a teenage boy…if it were you in his place, don't you think the pressure would have some…unforeseen consequences?

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////**f l a s h b a c k**\\\\

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Professor Trelawney leaned forward and grabbed Harry's arm. Peering into his startled green eyes, she slowly nodded in satisfaction. Her blue eyes momentarily unmisted, as the true seer looked upon the boy-who-lived with the wisest eyes Harry had ever seen._

"Sometimes, prophecies can be…are **meant** to be broken."

Straightening in her chair, Professor Trelawney proudly wrapped her shawl more securely around her shoulders, looking at Harry slyly as she did so.

For the moment, at least, she appeared the real deal. Wise, regal, and too knowing for her own good. 

Retaking his seat at the table, none of the others leaving the room; Dumbledore, Snape, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, Pomfrey; noticed they were missing one of the most important members of their group.

Pushing away the cold teacup in front of him, Harry looked at the Professor earnestly, his own eyes almost as wise as Trelawney's.

"Do you have something you want to tell me?" Gently putting the question before her, Harry hoped it wouldn't make the sight leave her, like it had before.

A corner of her mouth curled up in wry amusement, humour showing in those eyes for a split second.

Then it was gone, and she was leaning forward, reaching for Harry again. 

"The others will never see the true path, they will never understand why my prophecy was misinterpreted. Not even Dumbledore can see it. They never will. You, however, will soon be able to see it…and much more."

"Hold strong, and you will see what I have. I wish I could help you more, but this warning is all I can give to prepare you for what is to come. Take my lessons to heart, and learn Harry, learn as much as you are able."

Then the wisdom faded from her gaze, leaving her blue eyes befuddled and hazy. For a moment Professor Trelawney just sat there, blinking at the room, then her gaze lighted on Harry, who still sat at her table.

"Did you want some more tea?"

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Professor Trelawney had died the next day. A heart attack. 

Sighing in disgust at his lamentations, Harry rested his forehead against the cool glass, as he stared sightlessly out the window. Or, at least, appeared to be staring sightlessly.

Harry had gained Trelawney's questionable 'gift' of second sight, and had first-hand knowledge that she had been anything but a fake. Unable to cope with the full strain of the gift? Yes. But a fake? Far from it.

When she had collapsed on the grass outside of Hogwarts, Harry had felt it. He had felt the wrenching pain in his chest as though it were his own, and the numbing, tingling sensation consuming his arm which had preceded it. He had felt her take her last breath, and then he'd felt her gift.

Passed down voluntarily, the person who received the 'sight' didn't have to want it, didn't have to have knowledge of the tremendous compliment about to be paid them. They just had to be strong enough.

Madame Pomfrey had judged it to have been a completely natural death, no sign of any magic being involved. Harry knew better.

As she'd died, Professor Trelawney had passed on to Harry, all of her present knowledge, as well as her gift. That was a hell of a lot of information to suddenly have flooding into your brain. It had knocked Harry out cold, and could have killed a weaker individual.

In this bundle of information, had been Trelawney's own explanation for her death.

Passing on a seer's powers is a conscious act, and takes a tremendous amount of power. The power is linked to the bearer's life-force, and with the passing of the gift, so does the bearer pass on their own life.

The seer chooses their 'heir' so-to-speak, and it is dependent on their judgement that they choose one strong enough to bear the gift and all the strings attached. 

If, however, the one they choose _isn't_ strong enough, then the powers return to the giver, and the seer then has to find someone else to name 'heir'. The process still weakens both parties incredibly, even if it is not a successful exchange.

Professor Trelawney had judged Harry the right person to carry out what needs to be done, and had thus given him the tools to accomplish it. After seven weeks though, Harry was still no closer to finding out how to go about doing such a thing.

Bringing his new powers under control had been quite easy, thanks to Trelawney's knowledge floating around inside his brain, but putting what he 'saw' to use was something he'd only be able to perfect with practise. Time. Something Harry knew was beginning to run out.

It would no doubt be easier if he could at least tell Ron and Hermione what had happened, but he knew that would be a foolish thing to do. Whereas before he had always run to his friends when he was presented with a challenge, he knew that wouldn't work in this case. They would be filled with disbelief at first, then demand Dumbledore check him out to see if he was telling the truth. Then Madame Pomfrey would be drawn into the situation, then Snape, then McGonagall, then…

Luckily, with his new gift, Harry could hypothesise possible courses of action, and he would know if they would work or not, as he could foresee the results.

This _should_ have made his task easier, but there were so many possibilities spreading before him that the amount of time it would take for him to examine them all, could stretch into years if he didn't maintain control.

If anyone could have helped him, Harry knew it would have been Hermione. Her brain worked rationally, and that was exactly what was required here. The subject matter though…well, let's just say it would make Harry extremely unpopular with his friends… 

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////**P o s s I b l e - f u t u r e **\\\\

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Screams rent the air, as dark, noxious clouds of death swirled above them all. A portent of the prisoner's fate, and a sign of things already done. Through it all, red eyes gleamed crimson, deepening in colour as more blood began to spill. The jangle of chains, and a dark-haired prisoner was dragged before the Lord. Red tears slipped down the down-turned face. Brown hair coated in grease, and…other, darker, fluids. A cruel up-twist of the Lord's mouth was the only sign of his amusement, and…pleasure. At the snake kings signal, the prisoner's tormentors reached down. Gripping the dark hair in white, delicate hands, they viciously jerked the prisoner's head up.

The red liquid dripping down that previously hidden face, weren't tears. Where beautiful, warm brown eyes had been, two, mocking, crescents had been carved out. An expression of agony tore the female's face in half, and blood began to pour out of her mouth in a stream. Choking on her own life fluids as the members of the court looked on, her eye-less face still retained some hope. Hope…that their saviour would come, would save them all. Even as her face grew lifeless, her body cold and blue with death, that face still had a spark of hope, unsmothered. Mocking her meaningless death.

The snake king slowly turned around;

"How do you like this reality, Harry?"

Hung up, behind the cruel ruler's chair, pinned to the ironic cross that decorated the wall, was the saviour of them all. The boy-who-friggin'-lived. The one who should have died to save them all. The boy who had lost it all; his nerve, his strength, his will to live.

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Shuddering as he pulled himself from the results of one set of actions, Harry only just heard the creak of the tower door opening. Remaining where he was, Harry let his green eyes lose their otherworldly knowledge, pulling on the mask of a boy. Weary of fighting, but still young.

"Harry," The gentle voice of Albus Dumbledore reached his ears. Obviously trying not to startle Harry, the old man announced his presence well in advance. 

"I understand you miss Sybil. I might be slightly surprised how much her death appears to have affected you, but I do understand."

The rustling of fabric let Harry map out the Headmaster's journey around the room without turning around. There was silence a moment, then a sigh of pleasure, as the old man sank into one of the Divination Professor's chairs.

"Miss Granger and Mr Weasley inform me that you have withdrawn from their company recently…" Dumbledore paused in his speaking, obviously waiting for Harry to comment, and wandering why Harry had yet to turn around.

"It isn't healthy to distance yourself so, particularly in times such as these. We have no way of knowing when Voldemort will stage his next attack. You should be making the most of this peaceful time, not fretting over something that is the result of nature."

"Sybil is no doubt in a better place now, at peace. You should rejoice that she has been spared having to struggle through a war, and is out of harm's way. Now," Dumbldore climbed to his feet, finished with the distinctly inadequate pep-talk.

Using a tiny percentage of his powers, Harry noted the moves Dumbledore was about to use, and couldn't help but marvel over the man's inhumane jolliness.

"I think it is about time you came down and joined the rest of us. I believe there is a rousing game of exploding snap taking place in the Great Hall. Come on, you can't escape life Harry, not forever."

Casually turning in time to avoid the Headmaster's wrinkled, outstretched hand, Harry moved over to the door by himself. As the Headmaster gawked at his easy capitulation, Harry glanced over his shoulder.

"You're wrong."

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Whilst Dumbledore had been most annoying in his attempted interference, which had resulted in Harry relocating to the owlry, he had given Harry an idea for the solution he needed to find.

Mulling over the germ of an idea he had, Harry idly petted Hedwig as he thought it over.

It could work…but it would need a lot of planning, a lot of preparation, and Harry would need to know a lot more spells and the like. At the moment though…it gave off the luring appearance of being foolproof. Which just so happened to be what Harry needed.

****

Do you like the beginning? I tried to make it long, since I haven't written anything for my other fics for a while (I've been BUSY, okay?! Jesus!) *giggle*.

As I said, this is only the beginning, so it's a little (ok - a lot) vague, but that will get clearer, later on.

R&R please? I'll give you chocolate…J 


	2. The plan, phase one

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairing: hmm…not sure, but will be slash if anything…

Warning: Some spoilers from OoTP. (order of the phoenix - for mere mortals)

Plot:A weird thing which I just thought of this morning (I don't think I am copying anyone, so…*shrug*)

Basically, my theory on how Harry could get out of the war (kind of), and _still_ manage to save all the people whose lives 'supposedly' depend upon him. Afterall, Harry's a teenage boy…if it were you in his place, don't you think the pressure would have some…unforeseen consequences?

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The truth as we know it…is actually quite flexible.

* * *

"I believe we've been patient enough, Lucius. We move in on the Ministry tonight."

The figure of Lucius Malfoy halted its pacing, turning to look at the figure on the dais in a mixture of wonder, delight and anxiety. "What are your orders, my Lord?"

"Surround the building and force entry. Stun everyone in the building, but kill all the mudbloods when you round them all up. We want to send a message to Dumbledore. We are here, and we won't be going anywhere, nor shall we be defeated by a runt of a…!"

"Tut, tut, tut…"

Shaking his head sorrowfully, the boy responsible for the sound of disappointment emerged from the shadows behind the Dark Lord's chair. Casually leaning against the intricate stone carvings, which the series of cave were made out of, the boy folded his arms across his chest - the picture of indolent carelessness.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The consequences of that series of actions would prove fatal, as it were, for all involved. For you, especially, might I add."

Rising from his seat in shock, the great, Lord Voldemort slowly descended the stairs leading down from the dais, keeping his eyes on the boy at all times, in an attempt to protect his back from attack. Moving even further backwards, his ordinary brown eyes darted away from the person in plain sight, searching the rest of the room with small, darting movements. Standing at the same level as the shell-shocked Lucius, Voldemort gathered his poise around him and…whispered out the side of his mouth like a guilty school-boy.

"Lucius! How the hell did he manage to get in here? Where the fuck are my guards? And I hope you have a bloody good suggestion as to how we manage this situation!"

"Don't take it out on him, Tom. I won't reveal how I managed this, nor will I tell you what has happened to your guards…relax it's nothing permanent…I can, however, tell you how you are going to handle this 'situation'. It's quite good actually, as it is _the_ only way you can handle this situation." Harry paused for effect, green eyes noting he was the centre of attention.

"You are going to listen to me."

At that, Voldemort threw back his head and allowed a real laugh to pass through his lips, for the first time in years. Swallowing his laugh to a chuckle, Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Riddle, stared up at his supposed 'arch-nemesis', who, as it turned out, was just a boy.

"Oh, I'm going to 'listen' to you am I? And what are you planning on saying? 'Don't kill me, it's _wrong_'?" Irony laced his words, twisting his handsome features with a bone-deep bitterness. "In case you missed the memo, I am the embodiment of all that is dark and evil…_wrong_. So, do enlighten me as to how, you telling me that fact, could possibly change my ways."

"I'm not here to tell you that. As you've so aptly pointed out, you are already aware of that minor fact. And I do mean _minor_." 

Here Harry paused, pushing himself away from the stone wall, and moving quietly farther into the light given off by the torches. Stopping at the edge of the dais, he seemed oblivious to the fact that the person who'd been trying to kill him all of his life, was standing less than a foot away in front of him.

His green eyes darkened in colour, as Harry struggled to put his point across from under a thousand different scenarios, a thousand different prophecies, and a thousand different endings.

"All my life I have been taught about good and evil. Wrong versus right. Led to believe the two eternally battle it out, until one of them wins, after which there is a period where the winning side is in control, before another opposing force rises up, and the battle begins all over again."

"An eternal cycle of the same event, only played out in any number of different combinations, scenarios. The ethics remain the same. Sure, there are varying degrees of the two opposites, and the players are constantly shifting, changing, switching sides, dying, being replaced, yet, they all fight for the same thing in the end. To see which side the coin lands on."

"Nobody is ever interested in the neutral party. The grey, bland area in between the two polar opposites. There is never any talk of the two opposites reaching a compromise, and maybe shifting into that grey area themselves. Dumbledore never speaks of bargaining with you, or you with him. The thought of reaching an agreement never even crosses your minds. Until now."

Holding his hand up to halt Harry's flow of words, Voldmort frowned in thought before reaching a decision about something.

"You've come here to negotiate a…peace? Between…good and…evil?"

Expression never changing, the boy nodded his head, a lock of silky black hair falling into his eyes. A strained silence dropped over the odd trio; Voldmort processing what had been said so far, Harry waiting for Voldemort to finish those thoughts, and Lucius…waiting for someone to tell him the punchline for the joke.

"You've got to be kidding me! I mean, hell, I know they call you the boy-who-lived, but I think the title may have gone to your head slightly! Nobody can negotiate a peace between good and evil! By definition they are each the absence of the other, it is mathematically impossible, therefore, for any sort of…truce, to be reached! Tell him, my Lord, tell him how mad his plan is. Then we can kill him and move on with our planning, or better yet…use him as a hostage, bait, a bargaining chip to get the wizarding world to give up and accept your rule…"

"No." Raising his head once more, Voldemort looked from the boy, to his servant, and back again.

"I trust you have thought this out in greater depth. Your plan wasn't just to come here and announce to me that you wanted 'peace', was it?" Harry nodded, a confident, knowing grin, tugging at his lips.

"Very well then, Lucius, go and see to the guards. Aid them, replace them, whatever, just make sure the base is protected. I believe one unexpected visitor is enough for today, oh, and make sure I remain undisturbed."

Knowing better than to question his master, Lucius headed for the door at the end of the hall, directly opposite the dais.

Moving cautiously, Voldemort climbed back up the steps, watching the boy retreating back into the shadows as he did so. Turning his chair around so that it was facing the shadows, Voldemort sat down. Not so much a show of trust - just the fact that his wand was concealed in one of the arms of the chair.

Making sure the shadows shielded his partially-glowing eyes, Harry carefully monitored the outcome of all of his actions, using his seer abilities. One wrong move, and he knew Voldemort would attempt to kill him using his 'craftily' concealed wand, which was currently residing in the right arm of the chair, if one of the possible outcomes was to be believed. Harry _had_ taken measures to ensure his own safety, but he would like to have some warning before being attacked.

"I am prophesised as being the opposite of you. You have fashioned an image of evil for yourself, and as such your actions shaped mine, so that, in the future, I am going to be considered a force of absolute good. To counter balance the effect of your existence in the world. It has always been this way. This is how nature keeps herself in check."

"At the moment, however, I am a teenager. This is a state in a person's life that is renowned for metamorphoses, a constant shifting of image, emotions, behaviour, as people try to find the person they are meant to be. I like to refer to this as the 'grey period', when anything is possible."

"I am neither good nor evil, as of yet. By marking me as your enemy, you yourself decided what I will become when I grow up. Dumbledore will, of course, cement that, as he wants as many soldiers for the light as possible. I would rather remain in this grey area to be perfectly honest. I don't see things as chequered as everyone else, and I have no wish to be forced into that mindset."

"So, I have come up with a compromise, of sorts. From what little I know of you, through our link, our 'meetings', and everything people have told me, I have some small clue as to what it is you want."

"You hated your muggle father, and feel you are less than perfect because his foul blood runs in your veins. To make up for this, you want to create the 'perfect wizarding society', in which nobody's blood has been diluted by muggles, with money and privilege going hand in hand. I would never condone the killing of another being, not by your hand, and certainly not by mine. I do understand the reasons people give for this act, but I can never forget what they have done, despite my understanding."

"I propose you get your 'perfect wizarding society'. You certainly have enough supporters to create it. I believe that your dreams can be realised, with certain boundaries of course, and in a 'peaceful' manner. If you were given your own piece of land, enchanted so no one can enter of exit without your personal permission, I see no reason why you wouldn't be able to build this world you dream of."

"Given some time, you could become a self-sufficient society. It probably wouldn't even take all that long with the help of magic. Anybody who shares your views could simply relocate to your domain. You would be ruler there, as you wish, and as such in charge of punishing your people as you see fit. The only things I would not condone, are the killing of them, or the mental torture of them, i.e.: breaking them."

Voldemort had eased forwards in his seat, looking for all the world like an attentive student, a slight frown of concentration marring his otherwise smooth forehead. Taking a deep breath, Harry continued outlining his idea, sensing he was moving towards the path he wanted. At a snails crawl, but still going in the right direction.

"The ministry and Dumbledore will not agree with my idea obviously. They are white, and as such believe all others should be too. I felt you might be more open to my suggestion, seeing how willing you are to dabble in new types of magic. This grants you a slightly broader mindset, and I felt, to be perfectly honest, you were the safer of the two options."

"What?!" Straightening as though a bolt of electricity had shot down his spine, Voldemort stared at Harry's shadowed figure incredulously, then burst out laughing again. "Whatever else you may be boy - fool, idiot, damaged in the head - you certainly are entertaining!"

"Your…offer, does sound interesting. However, you have just highlighted one of the main problems with it. There is no way you will be able to convince Dumbledore or the Ministry to go through with it, and without their go-ahead, there is no way for your plan to be put into action."

"Then there is the small problem of sincerity. How am I meant to know whether or not this is some extravagant trick on Dumbledore's behalf? The old man is certainly clever enough to come up with it, but a small boy? I'm not so sure."

Standing up from his chair, Voldemort advanced a few, short steps towards the shadowy figure, brown eyes narrowing as he spoke with a cruel, calculating drawl.

"How could a _boy_ find my hideout on his own? How could he take out my guards, all on his own? How could he possibly implement his 'supposed' plan…all on his own? I don't think he could. I think…he had help. Severus!"

Stopping just out of arms reach, Voldemort half turned, in order to watch the door as one of his Deatheater's entered. 

The dark clad figure made it halfway across the hall, before he noticed his Lord had a visitor. Slowing down slightly, the man nevertheless continued forwards, visibly trying to get a clearer view of the boy. Coming to a complete stop at the foot of the dais, Voldemort stepped back, allowing Severus Snape a clear view of Harry Potter. A shocked gasp rang through the room, and Voldemort looked back at Harry, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"Now that you've seen I'm here separate from them, why don't you send the faithless spy away, so we can continue with our…chat?"

****

Mostly monologue, I'm afraid, but I wanted to get the basics of Harry's plan down. It is, of course, more detailed than that, but I'm giving you as much as Harry is giving Voldemort. Lol.

R&R, please? *cyber choccies to my reviewers - thanx for the comments*


	3. Phase two: Persuasion

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairing: hmm…not sure, but will be slash if anything…

Warning: Some spoilers from OoTP. (order of the phoenix - for mere mortals)

Plot:A weird thing which I just thought of this morning (I don't think I am copying anyone, so…*shrug*)

Basically, my theory on how Harry could get out of the war (kind of), and _still_ manage to save all the people whose lives 'supposedly' depend upon him. Afterall, Harry's a teenage boy…if it were you in his place, don't you think the pressure would have some…unforeseen consequences?

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Preparation is the key to all things

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A stunned Severus had been repelled from the massive chamber with a flick of Voldemort's wand, which had been hidden in the right arm of the chair, as Harry had foreseen.

Heavy doors slammed shut after the newly departed, the sound reverberating throughout the cavernous hall. The doors were so deep in the shadows, that it was impossible to see the source of the sound from the dais Voldemort still stood at.

Brown eyes still narrowed in speculation, Voldemort turned to face his unexpected guest once more.

Tucked back in the murk behind his chair, the boy-who-lived, didn't look very human at that moment, let alone like a boy. The flickering torchlight attempted to throw his face into relief, but only managed to cloak his face in further darkness, with the darker shading showing Voldemort where the hollows of his cheeks were - no longer plump with youth.

Suddenly wanting to see what it was precisely the shadows hid, Voldemort took a step closer to the wraith-like boy. At once he realised his mistake, but it was too late, and the boy turned like a startled deer, ducking into the darkness headfirst, as though it was deeper than it looked. 

And maybe it was, Voldemort mused, as his searching hand came into contact with solid stone, for the boy at any rate.

Sighing with what felt, strangely, like disappointment, Voldemort returned to his chair, sinking into the padding gratefully. Returning his wand to its hidden compartment, Voldemort stared contemplatively into the darkness behind his chair, not completely sure what had just transpired. That Severus was a spy was no revelation, he'd known for years. That Harry Potter didn't want to be the hero the wizarding world had made him, whilst something new, was hardly surprising, now that he thought about it.

After all, what kind of kid wants to have that kind of responsibility on his shoulders? Had Dumbledore even considered that fact, before he'd dumped all of his problems onto someone else's remarkably smaller shoulders? No, probably not. Thinking abstractly, was something Dumbledore was surprisingly bad at, especially considering how loopy he normally was. One of the reasons he had been so surprised by Voldemort's actions, and so unprepared to deal with Voldemort's 'evil' plans.

The sound of cloth brushing against stone jerked Voldemort's head back up, and he blinked his surprise when he saw Harry Potter had returned, though where he had gone was still somewhat of a mystery.

"Let's make something clear from the beginning, Tom. I will help you get what you want, and I will also help the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix get what they want. For you, your own kingdom to rule over. For the other's, you and the other Death Eaters gone from their world."

"I won't, however, join either side. You, I came to, as I said, because I thought you would be more amenable to my proposition. That doesn't mean we are going to become best buddies, or any shit like that. So, I would prefer to keep these meetings, if not secret, at the very least, not public."

"You have no need to see me in order to accomplish your dream. Just think of me as your mysterious benefactor, and leave the rest to me, okay?"

Still lurking in the shadows, the boy had lost his air of indolence, and was evidently not best pleased with Voldemort's actions. No longer leaning languidly against the stones, he stood up right, arms crossed over his chest to show he _wasn't _prepared to compromise on this point. 

"All right then, meeting in the shadows it is." Shoving down his curiosity before he did something else stupid and scared his visitor off for good, Voldemort turned to the reason for Harry's appearance. "You were going to outline your plan for me, I believe?"

"Yes, right, umm..." Folded arms loosened, then relaxed by the boy's side, as he lost his anger in the face of Voldemort's acceptance of his demand. Evidently the boy was no good at remaining upset, a thought which comforted Voldemort slightly for some reason.

"The main problem, as you said, is getting the agreement of Dumbledore and the Ministry. I have come up with a plan which will not only gain their agreement, but also insure they can't break it. Ever."

"For obvious reasons, I don't particularly want to tell you exactly what I plan to do. I will however tell you what the results of my labour will be."

"A signed contract, giving you permission to have your piece of land, and set up your own society there. Included in the contract will be a…safety measure, ensuring nobody launches an attack against your society. As you no doubt understand, without this measure, your society would rather be like a cage. Built to trap all who believe in the same things as you do, making them easy prey to be picked off."

"You will, of course, have to sign a contract to similar effect. Yours however will also contain a sub-contract which all members of your society will have to sign, before they are allowed entrance to your land. This will not only protect you from spies and assassins entering your domain, but it will also give you a hold over all of your people, making policing them an easy task."

Turning the idea over in his head, Voldemort acknowledged the fact that the boy was probably his best bet in getting his dream realised. Even if he did gain control over the wizarding world, he would forever be quelling rebellions, not to mention the large majority of the wizarding world was comprised of mudbloods and people who didn't agree with his views. That way would result in a lot of bloodshed, something Voldemort had never particularly relished, contrary to popular belief. What the boy was offering him though, was almost guaranteed to turn out peacefully, especially when the boy had admitted to being against murder.

"I trust you have brought the contract to show me?"

Reaching behind him, the boy pulled something out of back pocket of his jeans. The motion drew Voldemort's attention to the boy's attire. Black boots, black jeans, black turtle-neck jumper. With his black hair covering a large portion of his face, practically the only part of the boy not cloaked in darkness were his hands, and the lower half of his face.

The rustling of paper pulled his attention back to the documents now in the boy's pale hands. Harry darted forward enough to drop the stack of parchment into Voldmort's lap, then jumped backwards so quickly all Voldemort had time to do was blink. 

Ignoring the boys odd behaviour in favour of leafing through the contract, Voldemort noted the fact that the parchment practically crackled with magic under his fingers.

"What spells are on this contract? Just for future reference, you understand."

The boy ducked his head down, cloaking his face in further shadows, but not before Voldemort caught a glimpse of the half-smile adorning the boy's face.

"Binding spells mainly. Some major ones, some minor, a variety of linking spells as well."

"The contract is binding, throughout the generations, that's what the major binding spells ensure. I didn't make it hereditary though. I made it so that whoever is in power, in your society, or in the wizarding world, is bound to the contract. The linking spells make the need for their signatures redundant. There is also a linking spell in the wizarding world's contract, linking the members of that world, to the binding."

"Basically, the only difference between the two contracts, is that members of your society have to sign their names onto your sub-contract, which binds them to the main contract. This also serves to officially declare them no longer members of the wizarding world, putting their allegiance into your hands, thus rendering them answerable to you alone."

"These are only very rough, but I tried to make them as binding as possible, to escape the need for bloodshed. Once your society has gotten settled down, it might be possible to negotiate a link between the two worlds, enabling trading, and possibly visits between the two."

"Your sole belief is that you are better than muggles, and through them, mudbloods. For this reason, any with muggle blood running in their veins will be instantly transported to you should they venture into your lands. If you give them a magical permit, they will only be there temporarily, and as such are untouchable by your people. If, however, they plan being there on a more permanent basis, your people have the right to 'own' them, as slaves."

"They will, however, be treated more like employees than slaves, and be granted their own set of rights."

"I've already incorporated the part about them being transported straight to you upon entry in your territory, but creating a whole working, slave, sub-culture, that will take longer. Until such a time, I think it would be best if you simply returned any who should wander upon your lands, preferably to the Ministry. That would not only show you are willing to compromise, but it would go a long way to dispelling the view that you are evil."

Subsiding into silence, Harry monitored Voldemort's every action, running through the outcomes to see if he was succeeding in his task.

Voldemort finished reading through the documents, then looked up abruptly as the silence registered. A flash of glowing green caught his eye, and for a moment he thought Harry was casting Avada Kedavra. As the boy leaned back into the shadows slightly, he realised that wasn't the case. Apparently the boy had more reasons for wanting to hide in the shadows, than his distaste for being seen dealing with Voldemort.

"Do you want my signature now, or do I get some time to think upon it before signing?"

Determinedly keeping his gaze locked on the floor, Harry answered without looking up, positive Tom had caught the flash of green from his eyes while Harry had monitored the outcomes. 

"Take however long you need, my offer isn't going to disappear. Granted, the sooner you agree, the sooner I can set the plan in motion, but this kind of decision shouldn't be rushed."

Looking back at the parchment on his lap, Voldemort pursed his lips as he thought it over. 

On the one hand, signing the contract would bind him to the agreement completely, something that would definitely be bad should he need to break the agreement. He had no doubt that Harry had covered ever loop in the contract, and while the idea was good, he still wasn't sure he trusted the 'good' side to stick to their end of the deal.

"Get the Ministry and Dumbledore to sign, then I'll sign."

Harry sighed, the sound clearly heard across the distance. Following the trail of an outcome, Harry prayed he'd get the right result. 

"Shame. I needed to get your signature first. Oh, well, if you change your mind, I'm sure you can find a way to let me know. I'll let myself out."

"Wait." Grumbling under, Voldemort shifted in his chair, then held out an impatient hand. "I suppose you remembered to bring a quill with you, didn't you?"

Smoothing his face blank of expression, Harry pulled out the quill from his pocket, then lightly chucked it over to Tom.

"Sign with your blood."

Making a face, Voldemort nevertheless pricked the tip of his finger with the sharp point of the feather, scribbling his signature and the date where indicated on the parchment, wetting the tip with his blood again when it dried.

"There. Now you need to hold up your end of the deal."

Refraining from reminding Tom that Harry wasn't on either side, the boy motioned with his hand. The parchment and quill flew into his grasp, and Harry ducked back into the shadows before Voldemort could react. A faint "Thanks", floating in the air behind him.

Sitting there, stunned, Voldemort glanced down at his bleeding finger, the only evidence that the boy had ever been there.

"Rude."

****

Crap, I know. *ducks head to avoid the crowd throwing tomatoes* I'll try to make the next chapter better, although it could take a while before I update - lot's to do! 

R&R, please? *cyber choccies to those who review* 


	4. Phase three: contract

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairing: hmm…not sure, but will be slash if anything…

Warning: Some spoilers from OoTP. (order of the phoenix - for mere mortals)

Plot:A weird thing which I just thought of this morning (I don't think I am copying anyone, so…shrug)

Basically, my theory on how Harry could get out of the war (kind of), and _still_ manage to save all the people whose lives 'supposedly' depend upon him. Afterall, Harry's a teenage boy…if it were you in his place, don't you think the pressure would have some…unforeseen consequences?

The beauty of compliance

Glad to have gotten the beginning out of the way, Harry steadily headed towards the Ministry of Magic Headquarters, not looking forward to the next part of his plan.

As he made his way across the empty pavements, void of people thanks to the sudden urge they'd had to be elsewhere, Harry involuntarily double over, a wave of pain washing through him - the after-effects of part of his plan. Possibly the cleverest part of it. Riding the swells of agony with a grim determination that would have surprised even Dumbledore, Harry waited patiently until it was over, before continuing on his way with nary a pause.

The red phone box loomed in front of him. The entrance to the Ministry. Powered magically, and worked by a Ministry employee. Shame they thought that was enough protection - one would think they'd at least put the wizard equivalent of security cameras up, what with how easily Voldemort had found it to gain entrance when he wanted to get the prophecy. Still, their ineffectual measures would only aid Harry's task right now.

Closing the glass-paned door behind him with a firm tug, Harry paid no attention to the way his flesh sought to vanish through the red-painted metal, choosing instead to speed his plan up before his time ran out. Reaching out a pale hand, Harry lifted the receiver, as Arthur Weasley had that one time which now seemed so long ago. Unlike Arthur though, Harry didn't press the requisite numbers on the dial pad. Holding the ear piece to his left ear, Harry reached out with his right hand, and very deliberately touched the tip of his forefinger to the exact centre of the dialling pad.

A moment passed, then another, before the phone box began sinking into the ground silently. Harry kept his finger, eyes and mind firmly fixed on the dialling pad though, waiting until the box had gone down as far as it could go before releasing the machine from his grasp. Immediately the box began its ascent, and Harry had to hurry and open the door before he was back where he'd begun.

As it was Harry still had to jump down to the ground, but it was still an effective way to get into the Ministry. Having bypassed the entrance floor, with its people coming and going, not to mention the official measures you had to follow in order to be granted access to the main, Harry found himself in what could only be a disused storage facility.

Boxes upon boxes of yellowing parchment, and overflowing junk filled up the garage-sized area. From what he'd seen on his previous visits to the Ministry this was what the majority of witches and wizards offices resembled, but the fact that they even had enough junk to denote the use of a 'junk room' indicated their dislike of throwing even the most useless things out, and yet the obvious need they had to relegate some of the junk from the other floors here on occasion. Likely some kind of spring clean-out, in which nothing actually got thrown away.

Weaving his way through the piles upon piles of teetering boxes, Harry saw that the room was actually a lot larger than it first appeared, and was likely one of those rooms which magically expanded as it needed to. Spotting his destination at last, Harry headed for the grimy-looking door lurking in the darkest corner of the room. The back entrance he'd heard mention of.

The grimy door led to even grottier stairs, an indication of just how unused this room was for the majority of the time, and, as such, largely forgotten about by the people who worked for the Ministry. Climbing the stairs, Harry was careful to avoid the ominous stain taking up a large portion of the staircase, edging along the wall so as not to touch it.

After climbing an indeterminate number of stairs, Harry finally reached a landing. With a door on it. On an old, wooden, placard, attached to the top of the door, stood the words, 'Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports'. Not where he wanted to get off, Harry continued on up the stairs, going higher and higher, even as his legs cramped from the strain, and pausing only for the momentary flickers of pain that wracked his thin form.

Finally, the stairs came to a definite end, having gone as high as they could, and the sign read, 'Level One, Minister of Magic's Office'.

The door opened at a push, and Harry's green eyes warily searched the warren of corridors in front of him, looking for any people who might immediately notice him. Luckily everybody appeared to be either at home, or stopping work for a dinner break. Since Harry knew for a fact the Minister was currently on the floor below, discussing a document with another colleague, and always worked at the Ministry until 8 o'clock at the earliest, preferring to eat dinner in his office as opposed to with the 'common' employees, Harry was well aware of the time limit he was working within, and hurried to accomplish his task.

Following the thread his sight dangled in front of him, Harry went down the corridor on the right, following it round the bend until he found the small kitchenette used for the cups of tea and coffee etc that carried people through the day. It was also the area where Fudge's secretary, a ditzy witch whose love of short skirts was balanced by her seeming inability to remember she was wearing them whenever she bent over, put something together for Fudge's dinner, as well as the requisite snifter of firewhisky.

Pulling the door closed behind him, Harry made sure there was still a slight gap through which he could monitor the corridor, before he moved over to the counter next to the sink.

Already laid out on the counter, for Harry's convenience so it seemed, was Fudge's ham and mustard sandwich, box of pasta salad, and the aforementioned snifter of firewhisky, all neat and arranged on a tray ready to be taken to the Minister himself.

Reaching into his pocket, Harry's nimble fingers hit upon the smooth cold of a vial, and pulled it out by its stopper. Pausing to gaze at the milky blue liquid it contained, Harry held his breath as he uncorked the bottle and upended it over Fudge's firewhisky. Not daring to move anything in the kitchenette out of its place, in lieu of a spoon Harry picked up the small glass and jiggled it slightly to make the potion blend in with the drink quicker. Only when all traces of the blue liquid had been swallowed by the reddish brown of the liqueur, did Harry gently place the drink back on the tray and slide the vial and cork back into his pocket.

The sound of heels on tile alerted him to the approach of Fudge's secretary, and Harry jumped back into the shadows of the kitchenette, allowing his hold on reality to slip. Glowing green eyes watched as the bouncing blonde witch paused in front of the tray. Lacquered nails tapped against her full lips as she surveyed the tray in thought. At last a smile snapped onto her face, and she flounced over to the magic-powered fridge, withdrawing a single white rose from within its cool embrace.

One last minute adjustment of the flower in its glass vase, a quick pat down of her hair, and she was on the move again. Pink high heels tapping out a rhythmic staccato on the blue-tiled floor, polka dot skirt swaying as she balanced the tray of food on her hip.

Following silently, Harry watched as she set the tray down on the cluttered desk with an air of satisfaction and importance. Surveying her work one last time, a flicker of sadness appeared in her eyes as she noted the absence of the Minister himself, but that soon disappeared and she nodded her approval of her own work before slipping out of the office again.

Waiting until she was definitely gone, Harry then slid into the room himself, and grasped reality firmly in his mind once more. Feeling more solid for the first time in hours, the black haired teenager allowed himself to savour the sensation, knowing it would soon be brought to an end. Visions tugged at his attention, forewarning of the approach of an important event. Embracing their knowledge, Harry slipped out of reality once more, merging with the shadows as the Minister entered the room, swelled with his own self-importance.

Shutting the door so firmly it was almost a slam, Cornelius Fudge hung his green bowler hat up as was his wont, then moved towards his desk. His lip curled in annoyance at seeing where his bimbo of a secretary had placed his dinner tray. Again. If she wasn't so nice to look at, he didn't think she'd be worth the trouble it was to keep her on, and even with her looks and willingness to fetch things off the floor for him, she was still getting to be annoying.

"What does she think this is? Some kind of florist?" With an expression of intense dislike, Fudge plucked the flower that had been handled with such care and pride by the young witch, and flung it in the bin, which would then be cleaned out before morning, as was his wont.

Settling himself in his large padded chair, Fudge drew the tray of food towards him with eager, stubby hands. Practically inhaling the sustenance, he paid no attention to the sprig of herbs placed on his plate in an attempt to make the food look more appetising, and barely paused for breath before moving on to the pasta salad.

Only once the food had been abolished, did Fudge lean back in his comfortable chair and allow himself to breath again. A sigh of satisfaction indicated the meal had been to his satisfaction, but even that small sign the secretary would never receive.

Reaching out with a lazy hand the Minister picked up his snifter of firewhisky, something he would fire any other employees for having during working hours, and forced himself to take only a small sip, savouring the shot of heat it sent straight to his gut.

In three sips the liquid was gone, and Fudge noted an immediate change in the temperature.

"Hello, Minister. I hope you are in a receptive mood this evening, for I haven't got a lot of time I'm afraid, and this meeting will have to be somewhat brief."

The voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Smooth and well-modulated, the voice still managed to maintain an unusual quality, reminding the Minister of steel dipped in honey. There was something powerful about the voice, and the cold-yet-civil tone it took towards him sent shivers down Cornelius' spine.

"Where are you? What meeting? I'm afraid I don't recall any meetings organised for tonight - maybe you got the wrong date. If you talk to my secretary, Suzie, I'm sure I can fit you in sometime, but…"

"Why, Minister, I'm shocked." The shadows by the door coalesced into the dark form of a person, only the pale face and eerily bright green eyes telling the Minister who had snuck into his office.

"That you don't recognise me, that is. The fact that you were unaware we had a meeting doesn't shock me, as the truth is this meeting wasn't scheduled, although it was inevitable in some shape or form."

As Fudge looked at the dark figure, who even now stayed back, he lost some of his previous fear to anger. And everybody knows how volatile fear and anger are together. However, before the Minister could do something he would later regret, Harry decided he'd given the potion enough time to work its way through the Minister's system.

"I came to put a proposition to you. However, I am fully aware of how defensive you can get, and how your own pride often gets in the way of rational thought, so I took it upon myself to slip you a little something to overcome that problem."

"Now, it's nothing dangerous, or even illegal I don't think, although so few people are aware of the potion it's hard to say exactly. All it does is force you to say and do what your deepest rationality and being believes to be right. Overcoming stupid things such as stereotypes, racism, beliefs etc. Here's how it works - I give you the bare facts, and you judge, independently and totally objectively whether or not you think my solution is a good one, and whether or not you give you support to it."

As Fudge took in what the legendary Harry Potter was saying he felt his rage swing free, and rose from his chair to forcibly remove the living legend himself. Or at least, that's what he tried to do. A simple wave of Harry's hand took care of that misguided action though, and the Minister found himself magically bound to his chair.

"Now, now, none of that. A proposition must always be met with calm, and be considered carefully. How you made Minister is beyond me, you seem far too hotheaded for the task." Musing, half to himself, Harry leaned back against the wall of the office, shadows shifting and concealing even his face from view, leaving just his pale slim hands for the Minister to gauge his mood from.

"You have Voldemort and Death Eaters terrorising your people. You don't want this. Voldemort and the Death Eaters don't like muggles and mudbloods, which is the reason behind their actions. Therefor the perfect solution to this problem would be to separate the two. The wizarding and muggle society's split up from those who follow Voldemort."

"This is a possibility we could put into practise. I have drawn up some contracts which give Voldemort control of a portion of land big enough for him to set up his 'ideal society', and isolated enough to keep it apart from your own. He has already signed it, agreeing to the restrictions placed upon him and his. I also have a contract agreeing you will leave him and his alone, apart from necessary contact, such as; returning any wandering muggles or mudbloods, extending the terms of the contracts, building any bridges wanted between the two society's etc."

"Do you think this is a good way of keeping the two separate?"

Harry waited patiently, and the potion forced a firm 'yes' from the Minister.

"Do you think this is a good way to stop any further blood shed?"

Quicker this time, the answer came - 'yes'.

"Will you formally support this action, and explain it to your people with the purpose of gaining their support for it?"

A slight hesitation occurred, as Fudge desperately tried to keep from letting the potion say what he really felt. However, even Fudge wasn't so blind that he could deny the wisdom of such tactics, and he soon succumbed and let the potion talk for him.

"Yes."

Withdrawing the contracts from his back pocket once more, Harry sent them to the Minister's desk on a tendril of magic, with the clean-again quill following shortly after.

"I want you to read each of the contracts over carefully. If there is anything in them you don't understand I want you to ask me about it. Then, if you agree with the limitations and agreements set, I want you to sign your name in the required box, using your own blood as the ink. Do you understand?"

An absentminded 'yes' reassured Harry, and rendered him free of any wrongdoing or trickery. With a look of intense concentration, Minister Fudge bent to the contracts, going over each one with a thoroughness that ensured he didn't miss any details.

Eventually he finished reading them through, and the quill was bloodied, and the signature done with a flourish, before all was proffered to the silent figure still leaning against the wall.

A flick of magic took the contracts and quill back, and as the silent figure departed Fudge idly wondered why he hadn't ventured any closer.

The door to the Minister's office slid soundlessly shut behind Harry, and he left the man to his paperwork, knowing he'd have no problems with the man's approval from now on. That was another advantage of the potion used, not only did it make the recipient have to listen, once they stopped fighting their own agreement with what was being suggested, it was sealed. They'd never fight against that particular idea again, unless something they didn't agree with in it came up - but their biased approach, on that front at least, was forever abolished.


	5. Phase four: necessity

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairing: hmm…not sure, but will be slash if anything…

Warning: Some spoilers from OoTP. (order of the phoenix - for mere mortals)

Plot:A weird thing which I just thought of this morning (I don't think I am copying anyone, so…shrug)

Basically, my theory on how Harry could get out of the war (kind of), and _still_ manage to save all the people whose lives 'supposedly' depend upon him. Afterall, Harry's a teenage boy…if it were you in his place, don't you think the pressure would have some…unforeseen consequences?

Blackmail, pure and simple

Pausing mid-stride, Severus Snape felt a trickle of fear snake down his bruised spine. Shaking free of his overactive imagination, the Professor resumed walking to his quarters, looking forward to a stiff drink and the consequential oblivion it would offer.

So lost in telling himself he was simply being paranoid, now that he knew Voldemort knew he was a spy, the normally vigilant potions Professor failed to notice the narrowed green eyes watching him from the shadows.

As soon as the man had turned down the stairs that led to the dungeons, Harry stepped out into the empty corridor.

Feeling the ripples of pain increasing in intensity, and noting the shortening pause between attacks, the black-haired boy knew his time was running out fast. A glance at his watch confirmed what he already knew - there was only two hours until midnight.

Heading swiftly for the Headmaster's office, Harry knew Dumbledore would be waiting. He was also aware that Dumbledore most likely believed him to have gone dark - which wasn't going to make him any more receptive to his cause. Still, it would make what he was about to do to the old man easier.

The Gryphon opened to Harry's 'chocolate beetles', and the young wizard quickly ran up the stairs, wincing as the pain reached its peak.

By the time Harry got to the door at the top, the pain had disappeared, leaving Harry pale and shaking, but able to carry a conversation at least. Drawing in a deep breath, Harry prepared to alienate the man he regarded as his mentor and a good friend.

For a moment Harry allowed himself to imagine what he'd be doing right now if he was a normal boy - asleep with the rest of his friends by now, or possibly cramming in some last minute homework…something ordinary. But thanks to Voldemort, he was anything but ordinary…sometimes he didn't know whether that was something to be grateful for or not.

His sight prodded him into action - giving him a full on vision of himself lying on the staircase shaking from the pain. Shrugging out of his funk, Harry acknowledged the need for haste, and pushed the door open.

Sat behind his desk, in the tall, wooden chair that resembled an old-fashioned throne, Dumbledore presided over his court of dusty tomes and delicate parchment clad in a robe of red silk. Tired blue eyes peered at Harry with disappointment and tired resignation evident in their depths.

Snape had obviously pulled the Headmaster from his sleep, judging from the dressing gown, lack of hat and an air of vulnerability that wasn't present during the day. Right now Dumbledore looked exactly like what he was - an old man, and evidently aged by the news that Harry'd gone over to the other side.

"Harry." Dumbledore greeted him with a slight nod that did nothing to hide the wariness in his eyes.

"Headmaster." Harry inclined his own head, face expressionless as he took in the tenseness of Albus' grip on the wand he had out in plain sight on his desk. "Relax. I'm not here for what you obviously think I am."

At his words, Dumbledore's face registered brief shock, which the Headmaster was then quick to conceal. Still, he didn't try to pretend he didn't know what Harry meant - the blatant presence of his wand made pretence redundant.

"What are you here for then?"

Drawing nearer the desk Dumbledore was seated behind, Harry ignored the shocked exhalation at his appearance, knowing full well he looked, at best, like a ghost.

"I'm here to make you an offer,"

"I'll never join Voldemort! You should both know better than to offer such a thing - I'll never stop fighting him either!"

Letting his exasperation show, as Dumbledore butted in before he could finish, Harry momentarily wondered why everybody thought Dumbledore was so clever.

"I know that! Come on, give us some credit. In any case, no, I didn't come here to ask you to 'join us'. I came to propose a truce…of sorts."

Blue eyes narrowed, in a supposedly shrewd manner. "Will he stop persecuting muggles and muggle-borns?"

His attempt to shock Harry back to the side of the 'light' by telling him what Voldemort was all about, fell…rather flat.

"In a manner of speaking. Here, read through these - they should be pretty self explanatory."

Tugging Dumbledore's copy of the contract out of his back pocket, Harry put it on the desk himself. Wouldn't do for Dumbledore to know everything Harry could do, i.e. wandless magic, especially since he now considered Harry to be on the other side.

Crafty green eyes watched as shaky, veined hands cautiously picked up the sheets of parchment before him. Dumbledore's rheumy blue eyes widened, first with surprise - at the official-ness of the documents - then with incredulity, when they saw what they were suggesting. Finally, Albus' head came up to look at Harry, with something akin to dumbfounded disbelief.

Voice deadpan, the Headmaster was the first to speak. "You've got to be joking."

When Harry made no response, Dumbledore glanced down at the parchment again - then his eyes came back up, more urgent than before.

"This, what you're suggesting is ludicrous! Give Voldemort reign over his own piece of land? - what kind of sick fantasy of his is this?"

Halting his own hysteria, the 'Great Dumbledore' - 'Defeater of Grindewald' - lowered his head. Inhaling deeply several times, Albus regained control of himself, and managed to meet Harry's empty look with a level-headed, rational one of his own.

"Harry, my boy, there is nothing you could possibly say, or do, to make me sign onto this monstrosity. Your master will be defeated, maybe not this day, but he can't hide forever. I think you'd better take this with you, I'll destroy it if you leave it here."

Stepping up to the desk once more, Harry stared hard at the person he'd looked up to for so long. To suddenly see how things would end with Dumbledore's tactics, and have your eyes opened up to the man's foolishness, was a rather strange experience - to put it mildly.

Realising he was scaring the old man again Harry relented his gaze slightly, allowing the slight wonderment that Trelawney had managed to avoid interfering for so long, to pass through his mind, before going back to business. Afterall, that's all this was…business.

Leaving the parchment where it was on the desk, Harry diverted his gaze from the Headmaster and paced away from him - not wanting to see his face.

"I'm not your boy, y'know - I never was. Mind you, Voldemort isn't my 'master' either, so I guess that makes me a stray."

The sudden glow of his green eyes as he 'saw' Dumbledore about to interrupt, was so great it cast a slight shadow on the wall Harry was facing. Holding up a hand to halt the man's words, Harry quickly closed his eyes tight shut.

"Let me have my say."

'Seeing' Dumbledore reluctantly close his mouth, and ease back slightly in his chair, Harry continued with what he needed to say.

"I came up with the documents on your desk. I came up with the idea for this 'segregation'. I then approached Voldemort to get his approval of the idea - and his signature."

"I also went to the Minister of magic. And got his signature."

Opening his eyes, Harry turned to face the uncomprehending face of Albus Dumbledore.

"I was the one who came up with the idea of putting all muggles under the responsibilities of the Minister of magic. Until such a time as muggles are fully aware of witches and wizards, and as such are capable of having their own say in this agreement - anything about muggles in this…cease-fire, must be authorised and overseen by the Minister."

"And, with all the main players in this contract already signed…"

"Whether or not you also sign is a moot point - it makes no difference to the fact that these plans _are_ going ahead. With the full co-operation of both the ministry, and the 'rebel camp' a.k.a. Voldemort and co."

"I merely made it possible for you to be added into the contract - as another ambassador for muggles, if you like - because I was under the impression that you'd want to be kept informed of any future alterations or additions that are made to the contract…"

"Forgive me if that impression was a mistaken one."

A moment passed in silence, then another, and Harry knew the path that the future took hinged on the Headmaster's reaction. A turning point in history, which - unfortunately - Harry had little to no influence on.

Finally, with an expression of mingled distaste and bitterness, the outmanoeuvred Albus Dumbledore - 'Defeater of Grindewald' - reached once more for the contract.

Holding out one fragile, liver-spotted hand, he ground out his request. "Quill?"

Tugging the once-more clean quill out of the ever-useful back pocket of his jeans, Harry silently handed it over, reluctant to rub in the defeat.

"I take it this is to be signed in blood?"

Again, the barely civil tone of the Headmaster was clearly showing the strain not to curse and scream, but when Harry answered the question with a nod, Dumbledore didn't hesitate or flinch - a sharp downwards movement viciously ripped through the fleshy part of his palm.

Angry, decisive movements drew the weak blood into the shape of a signature.

As soon as the 'e' was finished being wrought the entire parchment glowed a bright red, and the silent 'boom' of pent-up magic exploded out of the room. A strangled 'Wha…?' of shock escaped Dumbledore's throat, before he figured it out.

Feeling the metaphysical reverberations as the other two anchors were slammed into place, Harry allowed a brief smile to cross his tightly clenched lips - the strain momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

"A…a…tri-…!"

Sparing a disinterested glance at the stuttering and suddenly-pale Headmaster, Harry felt his lip curl upward in a snarl of disgust. God - the man couldn't even speak now!

"Yes, a tri-grounded contract. The triple signings make it the most stable of all contracts - unbreakable. Adaptable, yes. Breakable, no."

The poor man was purple in the face by now, and Harry knew that this action would destroy any kind of affection the man still held after being virtually forced into signing the truce.

"You, you tricked me! You _did_ need my signature afterall - otherwise there was the chance the spell could weaken over time, and be broken!"

"Yes, I did need you. I sincerely thank you for your help. Inadvertent though it may have been."

Snatching the document out of Dumbledore's now-loose grasp, before the enraged wizard could do something foolish, like try to destroy it - and end up possibly giving himself a heart attack in the doing - Harry then turned his back and headed for the door.

"First, you blackmail me. Then I find that you tricked me as well! I see Voldemort has taught you very well - I just hope you remember how traitorous he can be in your own dealings with him!"

Hesitating at the door, Harry couldn't let that falsehood lie. Half-turning, just enough for Dumbledore to see his face, Harry met the blue eyes head on - even as he felt his time fast running out.

"Voldemort didn't teach me those methods though, sir. You did."

Leaving the flabbergasted man, staring slack-jawed at the empty doorway, Harry bolted down the stairs and following corridors.

Making it out of the castle with barely minutes to spare, Harry tore down the castle pathways for as long as could - running like the hounds of hell themselves were chasing at his feet.

When he'd gotten as far away as he thought he could, the black-haired boy veered off the path and darted into the forbidden forest. Tonight no giant spiders or werewolves could possibly touch him, and as such the forest offered the best, most neutral, safety.

The first shielding of trees was easy to bypass, but by the third Harry was panting with the effort to keep going as the pain wracked his body. The sixth came - deeper than the spider's territory - and he couldn't go any further.

Sinking to his knees, the screams he'd withheld bubbled up inside - ripping his throat up as they tore out of his mouth and rang through the trees.

Small animals ran and hid. Larger predators paused in their business, to pay homage to the agony in the noise filling the forest. The centaurs, in their wiseness, leaked tears of silver and pawed at the ground in distress, intuiting the shift in the world that had been wrought that night.

Up in the castle, tucked up snug in their beds, the growing witches and wizards, and their older teachers shot upright as one - terror filling their hearts as they wondered what kind of creature could create such a sound. With renewed fear, the first years took note of Dumbledore's warning about the forbidden forest, and those that had detention in it the next night suddenly felt very ill.

With one last howl of agony, Harry's body gave up the fight, and he collapsed into unconsciousness right there - sprawled among the pine needles and damp foliage - and the ancient trees rising up all around him offered up their innate magic to the depleted young wizard at their feet, aiding him as best they could.

****

This chapter will probably seem really weird and ambiguous (hell, it IS), but I promise things will become clear next chapter as the plans get started!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, don't know if I mentioned it before but this fic may become slash later on…although I'm still only toying with the idea of the pairing - I think I could make it work - but it may just turn into a friendship…dunno yet.

R&R, please? How did you like the ending - did you get the fact that Harry was in a great deal of pain? I thought it was pretty clear. shrug


	6. Conniving gits

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairing: hmm…not sure, but will be slash if anything…

Warning: Some spoilers from OoTP. (order of the phoenix - for mere mortals)

Plot:A weird thing which I just thought of this morning (I don't think I am copying anyone, so…shrug)

Basically, my theory on how Harry could get out of the war (kind of), and _still_ manage to save all the people whose lives 'supposedly' depend upon him. Afterall, Harry's a teenage boy…if it were you in his place, don't you think the pressure would have some…unforeseen consequences?

"Fight the Good Fight"

For weeks after the night 'Harry Potter blackmailed Albus Dumbledore there was no sight or sound from the boy wonder, and everybody, Voldemort in particular, began to suspect the bargain wasn't going to be kept. As a result, on the third week, Voldemort finally let his Death Eaters retaliate in the skirmishes engineered by a very pissed off Dumbledore.

However, unbeknownst to Voldemort, but fully known to Dumbledore, several documents had mysteriously appeared in the Hall of Laws at the Ministry - which would grant the Death Eaters' their land, and make it illegal to attack them on said land, without justification.

As Dumbledore was fully aware of the appearance of these laws, and the fact that they were irrevocable, he was also aware of the strange time activation included in the laws. This time activation meant that the laws, whilst already registered, were not put into effect until after a certain date and time - as listed - and until that date and time, the new law was not formally introduced to the public. Meaning nobody in the wizarding world was yet aware of the law's existence.

This particular law was not active for another month after the date it had turned up, and Dumbledore desperately wanted to make a dent in the Death Eater numbers before they were 'untouchable', so to speak.

For three long weeks the old wizard had taken full advantage of Voldemort's protégé's absence, and poured all of his energies into hunting down and attacking the Death Eaters. Not because he felt he himself could stop Voldemort, but so he could hopefully goad the other side into a full-on battle, during which he and the Order of the Phoenix would have the opportunity to take out as many of the buggers as possible before Harry could put his plan for peace into action.

Yet, for some reason, Voldemort had proven rather difficult to provoke, and Dumbledore had to resort to kidnapping the known-Death Eater's children to get the Dark Lord to finally give free reign to his followers.

As Dumbledore was busy provoking Voldemort, and the Dark Lord himself fast losing his patience, Minister Fudge was receiving a large number of anonymously written articles about the contract - with explicit orders on which magazines/newspapers he had to have publish them, and when - not to mention a variety of reports informing him of the progress of the builders (muggle and wizard) he had hired, and the lists of materials he had also procured for the 'project'.

Fast getting tired of not knowing what was happening in his own office, Fudge had made several enquiries, and discovered somebody had accessed the Ministry's coffers (supposedly himself), and dispersed the money economically, in such a way as to get the land ready for Voldemort and his followers to live on in the optimum amount of time. Just where that piece of land _was_, was currently undisclosed, and none of the people who had apparently been there had any memory of where it was - or what it was like.

As Fudge got more and more frustrated, not to mention knackered - doing more actual work than he'd done since being elected Minister - Voldemort and Dumbledore had gathered the majority of their forces together in preparation of a battle.

Two days before the end of the month - when the law was to go into effect - the two opposing forces clashed just outside of Hogwarts. Dumbledore's forces came from within the castle, and its surrounding land, whereas Voldemort and crew apparated in just outside of the wards of the castle.

Narrowing youthful brown eyes at the scene that greeted him upon arrival, nobody could mistake the young man before them as anybody other than the powerful 'Lord Voldemort'. There was something in those hazel eyes that hinted of age beyond his looks - possibly the mingling of emotions; hatred, sadness and despair, which glinted in his shrewd gaze. Or maybe it was the way all of the Death Eater's looked to him for orders.

Dispatching half of his troops to keep Dumbledore and his people occupied, Voldemort directed the others to get to the castle, and free the children being held there.

Nobody but Dumbledore and Professor McGonagal knew the Death Eater's children were being hostage - not even Snape, for the simple reason that the Potions Professor regarded most of those children as young versions of himself, and tried to protect them from the choices and prejudices that had been forced on him in his youth.

A sympathy that Dumbledore had felt made him unreliable in this particular plan. McGonagal however had always been loyal - she alone appeared to understand that such sacrifices had to be made in a time of war. Granted, she was unaware of the law about to be put into effect, but Albus was sure she'd have agreed with his reasoning in any case.

As the Death Eaters sought to occupy and detain their opponents, Dumbledore's side put their all into the fight - recklessly flinging their lives away for the chance to kill even one of the 'bad' guys.

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had been allowed to join in the fight, as had the Weasley twins, and a variety of the older students at Hogwarts, who were proficient enough at their subjects to have been approached by the Professor's and offered the chance to fight.

They lunged and dodged as the curses flew thick, mingling in with the adults, as they fell to the ground. Dead. Just as often, if not more so, than the adults whose cause they felt they shared.

None of the members of the 'light' seemed to notice the Death Eater's defensive method, nor did they notice the majority of people who fell did so because of their own side's spells - as the chaos of battle shoved all precision out of the window. All they did was redouble their efforts - determined to die rather than be captured.

Hermione Granger fell over half way through the battle - as a weak shrinking spell, hastily flung by a sixth year Ravenclaw, hit her in the back - instantly crushing her heart to the size of a peanut.

As her death scream was cut short, a strange pulling sensation began to emanate from the middle of the battlefield.

A few staggered slightly before they managed to resist the tug, but the fighting paused entirely as the middle of the field began to grow darker. Stepping back as one, everybody's eyes were fixed on the swirl of blackness growing in the centre - and as such nobody noticed when Dumbledore cast the killing curse on a few Death Eater's turned backs.

Ignoring the strange phenomenon occurring, in favour of going round and hexing as many of the enemies as he could whilst they were distracted, Dumbledore failed to see the blackness coalesce into the form of Harry Potter. A pair of dark brown eyes did notice the occurrence though, and a spark of amusement momentarily flickered to life.

Only a few minutes had passed, but it was enough for Dumbledore to have knocked off three Death Eaters. He was raising his wand to kill the fourth, when a hand politely tapped him on the shoulder.

Spinning round, his aged blue eyes widened in brief surprise, before a fist to his face sent him to la la land.

"That, is called 'cheating'."

Harry's voice was slightly rusty sounding, but the fierce expression of anger that had been on his face seconds ago was quickly replaced by a mildly chiding one.

The Death Eater's looked at one another in confusion, but a hex from a quickly recovering member of the Order soon had the fighting back in full swing. Members of the 'light' instantly labelled Harry as a traitor, but other than a few heading over to defend Albus in his unconscious state, the rest of them returned their attention to the fight in general.

One person who headed over in particular was Ronald Weasley, and the grief he had felt at Hermione's death had very quickly morphed into anger and hatred for his once-best friend, as he saw that Dumbledore had been right when he'd told Ron and Hermione that Harry had changed sides. Hermione had defended the bastard until the end, but Ron had just known it to be the truth! After all, Harry had always shown the signs of being dark - parseltongue, Slytherin tendencies, psychotic episodes - add that to the way he'd soaked up people's adoration of him, and it was obvious, looking back, where all that would lead him. Voldemort.

Looking round with a vague expression of bewildered alarm on his face, Harry suppressed a wince, intuitively knowing he should have waited. Something was going to go wrong for him today, and yet, he couldn't just sit back and _watch_ as they all tried to kill each other. How could Dumbledore have pushed things to this, when he _knew_ a truce was in the works?

Watching the delusional old fool manipulate events and people over the past couple of weeks, Harry had longed to wipe the smug twinkle out of the wizard's eyes - and now he had done that, he felt it was worth the effort it had taken, as well as any consequences that got met out.

Scanning the body-strewn field with a critical eye, Harry noted the majority of deceased were from Dumbledore's faction, and another wave of anger washed through him at the number of people who'd thrown their lives away for no reason other than Dumbledore's say-so. Seeing Voldemort daintily picking his way over to him, Harry waited to catch Tom's eye, then gave him a slight smile and nod. Knowing full well how the Slytherin had doubted Harry's word the past couple of weeks, Harry felt a rush of relief when the other man didn't hesitate to reciprocate the acknowledgement.

Tom Riddle had just lifted his foot up again, in preparation of stepping over a mangled body in his way, when he happened to look over at Harry again and an expression of alarm contorted his face.

Harry was about to ask what was wrong, when a strange tingling overtook his entire body, and a familiar tinge of green enveloped his vision.

Shaking off the death curse, Harry ignored the gaping Dark Lord, and turned around to confront his would-be 'killer'.

"Ron?"

Watching as the redhead looked from his wand to Harry, an open-mouthed look of bafflement seemingly rendering him speechless, Harry very nearly felt amused. As it was he only felt a distant sad resignation - which he knew would later transform into full-on despair. Thankfully though, everything was currently rather distant, and the numbness within him was spreading out long tendrils to encompass his entire body.

"…Why did you try to kill me?"

On the basis of the fact that the boy had tried to kill him, it probably wasn't a very good question to ask. Still, Harry had never been known for his tact, and as he watched Ron scream then scramble to run away, Harry had to admit he was actually quite pleased with the reaction. Come on, the guy had just tried to kill him - the least he deserved was to get slightly freaked out!

"Er, Harry…? You okay?"

Tom's strangely timid voice made Harry turn around, eyebrow arched with surprise at the question, but that soon disappeared as a shiver of cold darted through his limbs.

"For the moment - but I do need to get out of here soon, otherwise I won't make it."

If Tom was curious about that remark, his face didn't show it, and he quickly gestured over his shoulder.

"We can go now if you want. My men found the kids, and got them away safely. We could always stay and finish off Dumbledore, but judging from your presence here I'm guessing the contract is still going ahead, and you'd probably say no anyway. Right?"

"Ha, right now I'm so pissed off with Dumbledore I'd probably encourage you to kill him - if not for the fact he is also included in the contract, and probably shouldn't die until its gone into effect. So…two days, then you can try to scare him into having a heart attack or something. But no actual 'killing' - that's against the rules."

Looking mildly surprised by Harry's dry sense of humour, Tom nevertheless eased his arm across Harry's back. Sending the signal to the remainder of his Death Eater's, Voldemort then apparated away from the battlefield - taking Harry Potter with him.

Landing smoothly, in the stone foyer of Tom's hideout, Harry shrugged the man's arm away and stumbled backwards into the shadows lining the walls.

Tom hid the flash of pained resignation he felt at the gesture very well, but Harry's senses still managed to pick up the faint trace of emotion. Any other time the fact that he could hurt the 'Dark Lord's' feelings would have caused him great amusement, but the killing curse Ron had cast was taking too much of his attention for even a flicker of a grin.

A sharp burst of pain washed through his system, following the path of coldness, and Harry doubled over, gasping, as the killing curse attempted to break down his genetic makeup.

"Harry!"

Coming to his senses, Voldemort cursed himself for assuming the other man would be alright - sure, Harry could handle a hell of a lot of things, but that didn't mean to say there wouldn't be any kind of repercussions.

Reaching into the shadows, he drew the pain-ridden body to him, cradling the writhing form in his arms before taking off down the corridor on the right, yelling for aid as he ran.

Swinging into his own bedchambers, Voldemort eased the trembling figure down onto the red velvet covers, brown eyes taking in the beads of sweat running down Harry's face with concern.

Only vaguely aware of the comforting hands on him, and the murmur of voices as people tried to figure out what was happening to him, Harry's mind was suddenly thrown wide open, overloading him with visions as his newly transformed body struggled with the curse.

Gradually the tremors slowed down, and the medics in the Dark Lord's camp breathed a sigh of relief, but then Harry's body began to take on a strange white luminescence, and they cursed their premature reaction.

Bolting upright, Harry's eyes snapped open - the green glow of sight illuminating the small chamber, and creating shadows on the walls. However, his body's white hue gradually grew brighter and brighter, eventually encompassing the green, and all present watched with dread as his eyes frosted over with white.

Horror filling his very being, for the first time since he was a child Voldemort felt true fear. The last thing he saw was white light.

****

Sorry this took so long to get out! In fact, the only reason it's out now is that I wanted to give you all a little christmas treat - so I'm sorry if it's not as good as the previous chapters, but I did it under pressure! Here, have a cookie offers plate

R&R, please - and I hope you like it!


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